n as
the women I have known have treated me all my life--showing me that
sisterly trust and sisterly kindness which have compensated in a
measure for the solitary fate which it pleased Heaven to lay upon me;
which, in any case, conscience would have forced me to lay upon
myself--that no woman should ever be more to me than a sister.

Yet I watched her with pleasure--this young girl, as she tripped on
before me, noticing everything, enjoying everything. She talked to me
a good deal too about myself, in her kindly way, asking what I did all
day?--and if I were not rather dull sometimes, in this solitary country
lodging?

"I am dull occasionally myself, or should be, if I had time to think
about it. It is hard to be an only child."

I told her I had never found it so.

"But then you have your friend. Has Mr. Halifax any brothers or
sisters?"

"None. No relatives living."

"Ah!" a compassionate ejaculation, as she pulled a woodbine spray, and
began twisting it with those never-quiet fingers of hers. "You and he
seem to be great friends."

"John is a brother, friend, everything in the world to me."

"Is he? He must be very good. Indeed, he looks so," observed Miss
March, thoughtfully. "And I believe--at least I have often heard--that
good men are rare."

I had no time to enter into that momentous question, when the origin of
it himself appeared, breaking through the bushes to join us.

He apologized for so doing, saying Mr. March had sent him.

"You surely do not mean that you come upon compulsion? What an ill
compliment to this lovely wood."

And the eyes of the "nut-browne mayde" were a little mischievous. John
looked preternaturally grave, as he said, "I trust you do not object to
my coming?"

She smiled--so merrily, that his slight haughtiness evaporated like
mist before the sunbeams.

"I was obliged to startle you by jumping through the bushes; for I
heard my own name. What terrible revelations has this friend of mine
been making to you, Miss March?"

He spoke gaily; but I fancied he looked uneasy. The young lady only
laughed.

"I have a great mind not to tell you, Mr. Halifax."

"Not when I ask you?"

He spoke so seriously that she could choose but reply.

"Mr. Fletcher was telling me three simple facts:--First, that you were
an orphan, without relatives. Secondly, that you were his dearest
friend. Thirdly--well, I never compromise truth--that you were good."

"And you?"

"The